


Echoes Of A City Long Overgrown

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Journey Big Bang Challenge, M/M, Travel, Young Aragorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After learning of his true heritage, Aragorn embarks on a journey north to visit Annúminas, once the glorious capital of Arnor and home of his people. Along the way he hopes to learn many things, both about himself and about the responsibility that carrying a lineage like his confers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea germinated when I thought 'I really want to talk about Annúminas! See what it was like and express it in fic!' Now that I've done this I don't think that's essentially what the story's about, as it definitely became more character focused, but I'm happy with it. I've never written a journey story, either, so it was a new experience. Also, it fulfils my first big bang! 
> 
> I was made lovely art for the story, which you can find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1126637

It had been exactly one hundred and fifty six days since the twin sons of Elrond had left Imladris on another of their excursions with the folk of the Dúnedain. It was exactly thirty seven days since Glorfindel had left the valley with reinforcements to meet their company at the convergence of the river Loudwater and the Greyflood. And these two pieces of information were direct contributors to the angry, slightly sulky face that Estel was making as he stood in the centre of Elrond’s office. In his younger years Elrond would have expected him to whine something along the lines of ‘But that’s not _fair_ , Ada’, but now he was older Estel said instead, “There are guardsmen enough left here for us to take a safe number and be a strong enough party to fend off any dangers we should come across on the road. You know that.”

Elrond sighed. Estel wasn’t lying; had he been anyone else he might have granted the request, for there were a sufficient number of guards to make up a party capable of doing what Estel was asking. But he _was_ Estel, or more rightly Aragorn, heir of Isildur, so it wasn’t quite as simple as that. “I told you that you are Aragorn because it was both your right to know, and so you could assume the responsibility that the position as the heir of Isildur entails,” Elrond said slowly. “One of those responsibilities is not taking undue risk to your person.”

“This is isn’t undue risk. The lands around Imladris are safe and we can travel through the Shire for a large portion of the journey-”

“But the journey is unnecessary.”

Aragorn frowned. “It feels necessary to me. It is about knowing the heritage of my people.”

Elrond spread his hands. “At least wait until your brothers or Glorfindel return. Then you could go. With them at your side I would feel more at ease.”

“And how much longer would I have to wait?” Aragorn said hotly, the very slightest trace of a whine creeping into his voice. “They could take forever to return. My people need me _now_.”

Elrond sighed, heavily. He could see Aragorn was set on this, but he couldn’t countenance letting the boy undertake a long journey with no one but guards for company, no one with him that he trusted implicitly and had known for long enough to know they would take the kind of care needed with the boy. He could have trusted his sons, or Glorfindel, or Mithrandir if he had deigned to visit any time in the last decade, but none of them were anywhere near. “Wait for them, Estel, or do not go. That is my edict.”

Aragorn scowled. “I am of age. I do not _need_ your permission to go.”

“No, but you do need my permission to return to this household,” Elrond said sharply.

Aragorn looked down. “How will I ever be trusted enough to do things for myself if no one lets me have experience of any danger?” he asked quietly.

Elrond rose from his seat and went over to stand by the young Man, who was now his equal in height, something Elrond always found slightly disconcerting. He was sure he would get used to it, though, just as he had once gotten used to his own sons growing taller than him. “Estel,” he said quietly, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “We all wish to grow up faster than our parents or guardians would like, and faster than we are perhaps ready to, I think. We all worry about not being ready for the challenges life will throw at us when we have to face them on our own.”

Aragorn looked up at him from underneath his hair, which always fell into his face when he tilted his head downward. He seemed to consider the words for a moment, before he said, “Even ‘Dan and ‘Roh?”

“Especially them,” Elrond said, chuckling quietly.

“And Glorfindel?”

“I suppose so, though I wasn’t around to see it.”

Aragorn sighed and leaned into the arm Elrond put around his shoulders. “I still want to go,” he said stubbornly. “Don’t think you can distract me with philosophy.”

Elrond laughed softly. “Alright, here is what I’ll say to that, then. Find someone to accompany you whom I trust as much as I would Glorfindel or my sons to look after you. If you can convince them to take you, you may go.”

Aragorn looked hopeful, then concerned, then his brow furrowed and he seemed to be thinking hard. Then he leaned over and pecked Elrond on the cheek. “Thank you, Ada,” he said, and with that left the room swiftly, his brow still furrowed in thought.

Elrond smiled to himself as he sat back down behind his desk. He was sure from that expression that Aragorn would do his best to surprise him.

/

It hadn’t taken Aragorn long to figure out who, in the absence of the other suitable candidates Elrond had mentioned, he should try to persuade to come with him on his journey. Unfortunately, the hard part was the actual persuasion.

“No, Estel.”

“Ah, but Erestor, if you could just listen before dismissing me out of hand-”

“I said _no_ , Estel.”

Usually when Erestor said ‘no’ in that tone of voice, Aragorn knew he was fighting a losing battle and would quickly give up. But this trip to Annúminas had lodged itself deep in his heart, and he was set upon going. “Ada said that he needed someone he _trusted_ to accompany me, and that if I could convince them to come with me he would allow it, so obviously I thought of you first as you _are_ his most trusted advisor.”

Erestor raised an eyebrow at him. “I have no doubt your charming smile and flattery will work on many, Estel, but it will not work on me.”

Aragorn frowned slightly. “I am not trying to be a hindrance to everyone-”

“You are making a fine job of being so despite your intentions.”

“But I do want to make this journey, and soon.” Aragorn gave Erestor his best pleading look. “If I have to wait for my brothers or Glorfindel to return I could be waiting until the winter, and then we would not be able to leave until the spring, and everything will be delayed. The time to go is now.”

Erestor gave him a measuring look for a few moments. As ever, Aragorn found it hard to tell what his old tutor was thinking. “Perhaps the waiting would do you good,” Erestor suggested quietly.

Aragorn shook his head vigorously. “The waiting is akin to stagnation. I need movement, energy, purpose. That is what the folk of the Dúnedain have been lacking all this time.”

Erestor looked slightly amused. “You do not believe in your prophecy, then?”

“Prophecy is what you make it.”

“Where did you get that line?” Erestor asked drily.

“I know you have not left the valley in a long while-”

“Only to your knowledge,” Erestor said with a slight frown.

“Indeed, but my knowledge is extensive enough,” Aragorn ignored Erestor’s huff of indignation, “And I _also_ know that you happen to have a strong interest in the history, so…” Aragorn spread his hands, “You are the perfect person to accompany me, are you not?”

Erestor looked at him, his mouth curling upwards slightly. “And what of Elrond’s displeasure with me when he finds out I have agreed to this?”

“You have told me many times that Elrond’s feelings on anything do not inhibit your actions.”

“Ah, so you have listened to me over the years.” Erestor stood and gathered up the book he had been pretending to be interested in while Aragorn made his plea. “I cannot promise you I will come, young one, but I will think about it at least.”

“Well, how about I give you three days to think about it?” Aragorn asked brightly, also springing to his feet.

“Already ordering others around,” Erestor shook his head and then made a shooing motion at the young man. “Fine, I will think about it, and in three days you will have your answer. Now, leave me in peace.”

Aragorn smiled at him and made for the door, but turned to lean on the door jamb and said seriously, “And do not tell Ada about this. This is strictly between you and me.”

“Oh is it?” Erestor asked, chuckling lightly.

“If you do talk to him, he will convince you to say no,” Aragorn said darkly.

“Quite possibly.” Erestor shook his head. “You have me wrapped around your finger, young Man. I will think about my decision and I will promise not to tell Elrond. Would you like me to bottle some moonlight and establish you a direction communication with the Valar while I’m at it?”

“I shall expect it all to be done in three days’ time,” Aragorn laughed, and ducked out of the doorway before Erestor could reprimand him for insolence.

Erestor, still shaking his head and laughing quietly, also exited his small office and turned in the opposite direction, intending to re-shelve the book he was holding. He was stopped by a small flurry of activity in an adjacent aisle, which he followed to find the resident librarian re-shelving books with a studied nonchalance. “Eavesdropping on me again, Mel?” he asked.

Melpomaen’s shoulders sagged. “How can you always tell?”

“You are always so obvious.”

“The door _was_ open.”

“That is no excuse.”

Melpomaen scowled at the book in his hand, but his voice was bright when he asked, “So, are you going to go with him?”

“Are you going to apologize for spying on me?”

“No.”

Erestor sighed. “I am surrounded by insolent younglings today.” He took half the books from the top of Melpomaen’s pile and started helping him. “As to whether I will go or not, I have not yet decided.”

“I would _love_ to go,” Melpomaen said dreamily. “So much history, and I could make some wonderful sketches.”

“If Elrond will not let Estel go he most certainly will not allow you to go.”

“Nay, I am shut up in the valley like a princess in a tower.” Melpomaen’s scowl was back in evidence. “But you _can_ go, so you should.”

“You lose your taste for adventure when you go through too much of it, I think.”

Melpomaen snorted. “That is a lie.”

Erestor shrugged. “Perhaps. Or maybe you just lose your eagerness to throw yourself with wild abandon into the path of danger.”

“I have never been _allowed_ to throw myself into the path of danger, let alone allowed to show any eagerness for such things.”

“That is no bad thing, you may come to find.”

“Now you just sound old.”

Erestor frowned at him as he shelved the last book. “A little rude.”

“Could be true,” Melpomaen shrugged absently. “You _are_ quite old.”

Erestor felt himself getting annoyed, right up until he noticed Melpomaen giving him a crafty sidelong glance. He snorted. “Trying to needle my pride won’t work. I am _old_ enough to see through that.”

“But it almost worked.” Melpomaen hefted the last heavy tome onto the shelf above his head. “Maybe that should tell you something.”

Erestor sighed heavily. “I have the horrible feeling I am going to find myself signed up for this journey whether I like it or not.”

/

When three days had passed, Aragorn was sitting in Elrond’s office again, beaming widely. His foster father did not look half as pleased. “You know I gave him that suggestion so he would have to wait,” he grumbled, nearly glaring at his most senior advisor and long-time friend.

Erestor appeared quite unaffected by his lord’s displeasure. “You could order me not to do it.”

“You wouldn’t listen.”

“True. It is within your rights, though. It is also within your rights to send me from the valley and not allow me to come back.”

“I am not _that_ angry.” Elrond shuffled a few papers on his desk. “And besides, Glorfindel would only follow you and then I would have lost the two most senior members of my household.”

“Ergo, you have to let me take young Estel to Annúminas.” Erestor smiled. “Well played, Estel, well played.”

“I cannot claim to have thought in that much political detail about my choice,” Aragorn said truthfully, though he couldn’t quite contain his triumphant smile.

Elrond sighed heavily. “Fine. Erestor has agreed to take you to Annúminas, Estel, so to honour my word I must let you go.” He frowned. “But I don’t want you to go alone. You shall take two guardsmen with you.”

“Fine,” Erestor shrugged. “Find someone who knows the area well, if you would.”

“Of course. You know I could hardly do anything else.”

 “Indeed. Only the best for us, Estel,” Erestor smiled.

“One might almost think you were enjoying this,” Elrond said, frowning as he pulled a piece of parchment toward himself “Who did Glorfindel leave in charge of the guards this time?”

 “Rochilar,” Erestor answered, “Do pay attention, my dear friend.”

“He seems to confer the honour on someone new every time,” Elrond grumbled, dipping his quill into the inkwell in front It him and starting the letter.

 “I think it amuses him,” Erestor said. “Possibly because it frustrates you and I so.”

“Or possibly because he simply likes being contradictory,” Elrond muttered.

“He said it was because he has many commanding officers at equal levels of skill,” Aragorn put in.

“Don’t let him fool you, Estel,” Erestor said. “He is not nearly as innocent as you suppose.”

“Well, you do know him best,” Aragorn said with a smile.

Erestor smiled, then looked at Elrond with a raised brow. “Are you done yet?”

“Such insolence,” Elrond grumbled. “Fine, yes, here.” He threw a small handful of sand over the parchment, then rolled it up and sealed it. Then he held it out to Aragorn. “Take this to Rochilar. He will know who best to send, and this details everything he ought to know.”

Aragorn nodded and, taking the parchment carefully, rose from his seat and out of the door, nodding respectfully to his foster father as he left.

Elrond sighed heavily as he left the room. “You are doing this just to annoy me, aren’t you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“Oh, partly,” Erestor smirked. “But mostly I am doing it because Melpomaen asked me if I would sketch some scenes for him, if I went. Also he accused me of acting old, an accusation which I must refute wholeheartedly.”

“So pride is on the line,” Elrond said, looking archly amused.

“I suppose. Perhaps Estel and I are not so different.” Erestor rose from his seat. “Now, I shall stop making headaches for you and leave to prepare for this journey.”

“A wise idea.” Elrond picked up his quill again, then paused, his expression becoming serious. “You know I _do_ trust you to take care of him, no matter how much fuss I might be making, don’t you?”

“You would not be letting us go if you did not,” Erestor said, smiling. “You needn’t worry. None of us will come to harm.”

Elrond nodded silently.

/

Erestor was busy deciding which and how many cloaks he should pack into his saddlebags when there was a knock on the door of his chambers. “Come in,” he called absently, wavering between the heavy black one and the slightly lighter green. How cold would it become? It was the tail end of summer, nearing what the hobbits would call September, so he would need something warm, but the black was really a winter cloak.

“Erestor,” a voice said from behind his left shoulder.

Erestor turned his head slightly. “Can I help you with something, Lindir?” he asked, taking in the bright-eyed elf’s eager expression.

“You and Estel are travelling to Annúminas, I hear.”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “The news has got around already, has it?”

“They were gossiping about it in the kitchens.”

“The world is a strange place when my exploits are interesting enough for discussion in the _kitchens_ of all places,” Erestor said sardonically.

“That’s not important,” Lindir said, waving one hand as if to physically dismiss the conversation. “What _is_ important is that I want to come with you.”

Erestor turned around fully at that, raising both eyebrows. “You want to come with us,” he repeated sceptically.

“Yes.” Lindir frowned, his tone becoming slightly defensive. “I _have_ been outside the valley before, you know.”

“Not often.”

“Neither has Estel.”

“True.” Erestor eyed Lindir with consideration for a moment. “Why is it that you want to come?”

“Adventure!” Lindir said enthusiastically. “Why else?”

“And you think Lord Elrond will look kindly on you tagging along on this very important journey simply for the sake of adventure, do you?” Erestor asked, turning back to his packing.

“No, but I think you could convince him for me.”

“And why should I want to do that?”

Lindir thought for a moment. “Because I very very much want to come?”

“Your persuasion skills have not improved much since the last time you tried to talk me into something, Lindir.”

“I have to admit I have never been the most subtle of elves.” Lindir came around and sat squarely in the middle of the clothes Erestor had laid out on the bed and looked up at him pleadingly. “But _please_ ask him?”

Erestor looked down at him, a faintly amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I told Melpomaen he couldn’t come, you know.”

“Because unlike me Mel doesn’t know one end of a sword from the other.” At Erestor’s frown he quickly said, “Sorry. But it is true. Mel would be a liability, whilst I could form another useful member of the party.”

“Because you have such experience with a sword,” Erestor said derisively.

“I may not be a warrior, but I am not useless,” Lindir said hotly.

Erestor sighed. “Fine. I will ask Lord Elrond, but do not expect him to say yes.” He motioned sharply with his hands, “Now, remove yourself from my clothing. Impudent youngling.”

Lindir bounced upward and for a minute seemed about to throw his arms around Erestor, but then appeared to think better of it and simply bowed with a hurried, “Thank you,” and left the room.

/

Elrond, surprisingly, approved. In a manner of speaking.

“Why not?” he said irritably, “Take the cook and the horse master with you as well, why don’t you?”

“I am sure Turwen would love to come,” Erestor said, smirking. “She would be the terror of orcs and trolls with that frying pan of hers.”

Elrond sighed. “He can go with you if he wants. But I want you to take another guardsman with you if he does.”

“Fine, agreed.”

“I cannot believe I am letting _any_ of you go,” Elrond muttered darkly, but Erestor pretended he didn’t hear him.


	2. Chapter 2

So it was that on a bright morning in early autumn, a group of six were gathered in the courtyard of the Last Homely House, preparing their horses for the long trek ahead.

Aragorn was almost bouncing with excitement, hurriedly checking his saddlebags and brushing invisible specks of dirt from his horse’s mane. Elrond stood beside him, covertly running his eye over his young charge’s preparations, but not correcting him.

Erestor was just off to the left of them. His horse, Niniel, whickered quietly as she thrust her nose into his hand; but he was focusing on the map that Gelvaen, the leader of the three guardsmen accompanying them, was showing him. “This way would be the route I recommend,” he said, pointing it out. “Straight across to Bree and a little further, then up through the Shire until we reach its northern borders. From there we only have to travel a little further northward up the river to reach Annúminas.”

“And we can travel in the Shire without complications?” Erestor asked.

“We’ll get some funny looks, but the Hobbits won’t mind us. They hold elves in higher regard than Men or Dwarves, most of the time.”

“Well, we shall trouble them as little as possible.” Erestor nodded. “I have no objections to this route; I will let you lead the way, Gelvaen, since you know it.”

“Of course.” Gelvaen rolled up the map and moved away, calling to one of the other guardsmen, and Lindir sidled up as Erestor was tightening Niniel’s girth. “I cannot believe you convinced Lord Elrond to let me come,” he said quietly.

“Quite frankly, neither can I,” Erestor said, glancing towards his lord, who was deep in conversation with Aragorn.

“Did you bring a large sketchbook?”

Erestor glanced at Lindir’s mischievous expression. “It is suitably sized, yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, Mel will need something to compensate him. For not being able to come, I mean.”

“I should have known you would rub it in,” Erestor sighed exasperatedly.

“You know me.”

“You do take great pride in annoying each other.”

“You mean _I_ take great pride in annoying _him_ ,” Lindir said, “Mel has little hope of besting me in that respect.”

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t put too much past him if you want to remain vigilant.”

At that moment the elf in question appeared, looking very put out and giving Lindir a nasty glare, which only made him smirk. Melpomaen proceeded to ignore him and came over to Erestor. “I cannot believe you are taking him and not me,” was the first thing out of his mouth, accompanied by a scowl and a pout.

Erestor laughed quietly and drew an unwilling Melpomaen into a one armed hug. “I will fill my sketchbook with pictures for you, despite my lack of skill, and note down anything I find interesting,” Erestor promised, pulling away and placing a quick kiss on Melpomaen’s forehead. “It will be as if you went there yourself.”

“But not really,” Melpomaen grumbled, though he looked slightly mollified.

“Perhaps when Elladan gets back, you can convince him to take you. You know he would do anything for you if you asked him nicely,” Erestor said with a wink.

A flush of red swamped Melpomaen’s cheeks, and his scowl returned full force. “At least I shall not miss your teasing,” he muttered.

Erestor laughed, and said brightly, “I expect you won’t. Look after yourself, Mel.” With that he swung up onto his horse, prompting the three guardsmen to hurriedly do the same. Melpomaen stepped back and Lindir leaned forward to whisper something into his ear, which earned him a swat on the arm and a venomous glare. It only made Lindir laugh, and he bounced energetically onto his horse and trotted around the courtyard once, showing off by adjusting his stirrups as he did so.

After a few more quiet words from Elrond, Aragorn nodded and then swung himself up into the saddle. “Are we all ready?” he asked.

“Once Lindir stops flaunting his remarkable horsemanship skills, yes,” Erestor said, giving Lindir a pointed look. The other elf laughed and turned his horse, pulling up beside Erestor with a grin all over his face. Erestor ignored him and motioned to Gelvaen, who took the lead, with his two guardsmen moving behind to form the rear. Erestor nudged his horse backward and to the right so Aragorn would be in the middle of the party, then raised a hand to Elrond as they trotted out of the gate.

The Lord of the Valley watched them from the steps as they went up through the pass, until he eventually lost sight of them behind the trees. “I only hope I don’t regret this,” Elrond muttered to himself.

/

The first day was a fairly easy ride, up through the valley’s pass and out onto the grasslands that surrounded it. The strict formation they had started with eased up as they found a steady walking pace over the grasslands, with Lindir falling back to chat easily with one of the guardsmen and Gelvaen reining in until his horse walked beside Aragorn’s. “There’s a place to camp nearby, where the patrols often stop, sheltered in a dell,” he said, and Erestor nodded his assent. He thought he remembered the place from various travels to and fro.

“How long will it take to get there?” he asked.

“We should be there before nightfall, at this pace.”

“Do you think we’ll meet anything malicious?” Aragorn asked, looking around with almost exaggerated care.

“This close to the valley?” Gelvaen smiled. “We would be very unlucky to. Orcs and such don’t come this close if they know what’s good for them. You will be more likely to have worry about that when we come near the Weather Hills.”

Aragorn nodded, a determined look on his face. Erestor just prayed they didn’t run into anything. He was quite ready for a nice relaxing trip, not duelling packs of orcs and goblins.

They came upon the dell Gelvaen had spoken of just as night was falling and proceeded to make camp. With the horses hobbled and grazing quietly nearby and their bedrolls spread out around the large campfire, they sat down to partake of the stew one of the guardsmen was boiling in a large pot.

“Annondil here is an impressive cook,” Gelvaen said as he sat down. “I have been treated to his cuisine on many a patrol.”

“It is not a patch on Turwen’s brilliance, but it serves our purpose,” Annondil said quietly, serving hearty helpings into each of their bowls.

“And he is altogether too modest,” the other guardsman laughed. “Try this, my lord, and see what you think,” he said, handing a bowl to Aragorn with a smile.

Aragorn grinned back at him and took a spoonful of the stew. He made an appreciative face. “Indeed, far too modest. This is very good.”

Annondil looked down into the pot. “There you go again embarrassing me, Míros.”

“Nothing of the kind, dear friend,” Míros laughed. “Only making sure you get proper recognition of your brilliance.”

“These two have been close friends for a long time, as I am sure you can tell,” Gelvaen said with a smile.

“Friends since the first day of our training,” Míros smiled. “I saw Annondil moping and attempted to cheer him up. I think he hated me at first, but we have grown on each other.”

Annondil smiled softly. “I suppose you could put it like that.”

“You see,” Míros drew himself up regally and spread his arms with a theatrical air, as if he were about to begin a performance, “Annondil here gets easily embarrassed by my antics, but what can I do? ‘Tis only a performer’s nature to be loud, expressive, vibrant. And in turn I have Annondil here to provide some calmness and rationality to my whirlwind existence.”

“Not that you ever listen to calmness and rationality,” Annondil muttered.

“Except on the battlefield, my dear,” Míros said, his tone slightly more serious. “There everyone must be rational and serious.”

“I suppose I can concede that point. You have never attempted to martyr yourself, for which I suppose I should be thankful,” Annondil chuckled quietly, and Gelvaen joined in.

“You all must have been on patrols and missions together many times before?” Erestor asked.

“We take nearly every patrol together, my lord,” Míros nodded. “And we often see Gelvaen, or have him as the head of our group.”

“And I heard you are to be married, Gelvaen, is that correct?” Erestor asked, turning to the captain.

Gelvaen nodded slowly. “Aye. We have not set a date, but I mean it to be soon.”

“’Tis a sweet story,” Míros chimed in. “Childhood sweethearts, separated for years…”

“Thank you, Míros,” Gelvaen said, giving him a look, to which the other elf simply grinned. Turning back to Erestor, he said, “Elunas – my fiancée – asked if we could be married before winter, but when I was asked take part in this journey I couldn’t turn it down. I have never travelled to Annúminas before, so I was simply too interested.” He laughed and shook his head. “She was annoyed, but she understands. Sense of adventure and all that.”

“Well, you must be sure to invite us to your wedding,” Míros said, “Perhaps I will even honour you with a song.”

“You sing?” Lindir said, perking up with interest.

“Sing? Why, I consider myself quite the competent singer, yes.”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “You have doomed yourself now, Míros. Lindir will never leave you alone.”

Lindir sniffed. “I have not had the pleasure of hearing your voice in the Hall of Fire.”

“Truly? I have sung there before.”

“Well, I must hear you on this journey, then.”

“But perhaps not tonight.” Gelvaen got up and began to bank the fire. “It is getting late, and we have a long ride tomorrow if we want to reach the camping spot I have in mind. If you all agree, I think it may be time to bid one another good night.”

There were murmurs of assent from around the camp, and as Gelvaen finished with the fire it simmered down into only a few glowing embers that barely lit the shadows around it. Erestor rolled himself snugly into his bedroll and lay on his back, looking up at the vast expanse of stars above. It was a long time since he had been on a journey like this, but the feelings and habits of being on the road came back to him as easily as if he had been adventuring out of the valley regularly for years. The smell of the campfire, the feel of small rocks digging into his back through the fabric of the bedroll, the sounds of the night animals as they moved all around them…all were as familiar as breathing.

He heard a quiet voice hiss his name, and he turned over to face Aragorn. The young Man had turned to face him, his eyes glowing in the dying light of the fire. “Is something wrong?” Erestor asked in a whisper.

Aragorn shook his head emphatically. “No. I just wanted to thank you again for convincing Ada. This is amazing!”

Erestor smiled fondly. “Go to sleep, young adan.”

/

The next day the fine weather held, and they made good progress across the wide grasslands. As Erestor had predicted, Lindir did not leave Míros alone, and they seemed to enjoy bickering with each other about different tenants of musical theory. Aragorn eagerly rode in front, asking a hundred questions a minute to Erestor who rode beside him, some of which he answered and some of which he deferred to Gelvaen or Annondil riding behind. The sun shone weakly through the clouds, but it where it hit it was still warm and welcome.

They made camp under a stand of stubby trees and had Lindir tell them one of the stories he had been learning from an old book of poetry. He and Míros proceeded to argue about it in undertones while Annondil told an amusing story about one of his patrols, involving dwarves, a horse and a very irritate old man.

Their journey continued in a similar fashion over the course of the next few days. By day they rode through the grasslands and chatted or stayed silent as the mood took them, and by night they would gather around the campfire to tell stories or sing. One night Annondil revealed a talent for fishing and caught them their supper; another night Lindir finally decided it was time to challenge Míros to a singing contest.

“Because,” he rationalized, “we have been arguing all this time about music, and yet have never faced one another in a true test of skill.”

“Is music about skill or about the inspiration and passion behind it?” Míros asked philosophically. He rose to his feet willingly enough, however, and smiled as he and Lindir took opposite positions across the campfire.

Gelvaen was laughing under his breath, Aragorn looked interested, and Annondil dropped another log on the fire with a long-suffering sigh. “He is always like this,” he said in an undertone to Erestor. “Showing off.”

“I think it is a trait common to those partial to the dramatic arts,” Erestor murmured back, smiling.

“And what do you propose we sing, honoured adversary?” Míros asked grandly.

“Anything you like,” Lindir said, smirking.

“That’s a wide field.”

“Wouldn’t like to inconvenience you.” There was challenge flashing in Lindir’s eyes, the kind Erestor had seen before. Those occasions had usually not ended well. _Perhaps it is a good thing he and Míros found each other out here instead of at home in Imladris_ , he thought to himself. _Out here there is only us for them to make a scene in front of._

“Do you need time to choose?” Míros asked. “I already have something in mind.”

“As do I.” Lindir broke his gaze from Míros for a few moments to look over at Gelvaen. “You’re the captain of the mission, Gelvaen. You decide who goes first.”

Gelvaen chuckled and brought out a gold coin. “Heads or tails?” he asked Míros.

“Heads.”

He flipped the coin with a practised motion. Erestor wondered if he was used to settling bets between members of his company in such a manner. “It’s tails. Lindir first.”

Lindir smiled as Míros sat, and pressed the palms of his hands together for a few moments, composing himself. Then he tilted his head back to look at the stars for a few moments before launching into song.

Lindir had picked a ballad composed about the fall of one of the mighty kings of Men, and Erestor noticed that Aragorn was held particularly enraptured by the story the strains of melody weaved. Lindir sang in his usual confident and accomplished way, and bowed as everyone clapped the end of the song. Míros stood and bowed to him grandly, which made Lindir laugh. “A hard act to follow,” Míros said once Lindir had sat down and it was his turn. “A grand old story of ancient deeds and noble acts. My tale is simpler, but hopefully none the less worthy in your eyes for that.”

Míros was true to his word; his song told the tale of an elven maid who fell in love with a soldier who was prophesised not to come back from his seventh battle. It was a sad tale, but the melody was beautiful, and Míros’ voice high and clear.

When he had finished and retaken his seat, there was silence for a few moments around the campfire. “A hard thing to judge, wouldn’t you say?” Gelvaen said after a few moments, looking thoughtful.

Erestor laughed quietly. “Maybe you have finally found your equal, Lindir.”

“Hmm.” Lindir eyed Míros over the circle, just as the other did him, but he didn’t seem offended by the suggestion.

“You can probably guess I favoured Lindir’s song,” Aragorn said. “But only by a very little.”

“Perhaps we shall call it a draw for tonight,” Erestor suggested, and his companions agreed.

“Maybe you could sing a duet together one night,” Annondil suggested as everyone was preparing to turn in.

“Perhaps,” Míros agreed. “Duets take practise, however.”

“And the cooperation of both parties,” Erestor added. “Lindir is a notoriously fussy musician to partner.”

“Hey!” Lindir sat up from where he had laid down on his bedroll, looking affronted.

“It is true, you cannot deny it,” Erestor said with a smile.

With a huff, Lindir lay back down and rolled over so his back faced the camp.


	3. Chapter 3

They were a week out of Imladris and near to the old watchtower of Amon Sul when Annondil announced, “We’re going to need to hunt soon, I think. Near all the dried meat has gone.”

They had struck upon the Great East Road two days ago and were riding up a long straight incline. Gelvaen looked around at Annondil and frowned. “How much lembas is left?”

“A lot, especially including what everyone has in their packs.”

Gelvaen hummed and nodded to himself. “Well at least we won’t starve.” He was quiet for a moment before saying, “We’ll camp early tonight and someone can go out to hunt before it gets dark.”

They found a small stand of trees just off the road and made camp under it. When the fire was going nicely – though smaller than it had been closer to Imladris, as Gelvaen was loath to take any chances – Gelvaen nodded and said, “Watch the camp, Míros, Lindir,” and led Annondil away into the brush.

Erestor could feel Aragorn shifting restlessly beside him as Míros stoked the fire a little higher and Lindir began to talk to him in a low voice. He turned a questioning gaze on the young man.

“Gelvaen didn’t command us to stay,” Aragorn said in a low voice. “I was thinking of-”

“Wandering off into the grass?” Erestor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Seeing what I might,” Aragorn said evasively.

Erestor sighed. “I suppose I had better accompany you. Elrond would never forgive me if you discovered a warg hiding in the bushes and got yourself eaten before I could get to you.” He stood. “We will be back presently,” he said to Lindir’s questioning look, and he and Aragorn walked into the wilderness and left the camp and the warmth of the fire behind.

“How long do you think until it gets dark?” Aragorn asked, taking his bow from his back and testing the string once or twice.

“An hour, maybe less,” Erestor said, looking up. There were stars already visible, and a few low clouds scudded across an otherwise clear sky.

“Well, we may at least be able to secure a rabbit or two,” Aragorn said, picking out an arrow and running a finger over the fletching.

Erestor smiled to himself as they made their way quietly through the tall grass, listening intently for sight or sound of prey. They came upon a circle of trees after a short walk, where Aragorn looked up and measured something with his hands on the canvas of night’s sky laid out above him. “You know,” Erestor said quietly after a moment, “This place reminds me of where I hunted when I was young.”

Aragorn looked across at him questioningly. It was rare for him to hear Erestor talk about his life before the Second Age. “Really?”

“All this grassland and occasional rings of trees, all the low hills. We had huge shoulders of rock which would rise up out of the grass, too, and sometimes there were caves inside.”

“And did wargs and bears live in the caves?” Aragorn asked.

“Sometimes. That didn’t stop us from exploring them, though.”

Aragorn laughed. “And you chastise me for being reckless.”

Erestor smiled. “Everyone has to be a little reckless when they are young. Anyway, I never found any wild animals in the caves, so no harm was done, was it?”

“By the same logic, out of all the ill-advised things I have done, I have never died, so therefore there was no harm in any of those, was there?” Aragorn said with a grin.

Erestor shook his head. “Too smart for your own good, sometimes, youngling,” he said. “Come now, you said you could catch a rabbit before it got dark. I see no rabbits, and night is almost upon us.”

In the end they caught a rabbit apiece and returned to a camp fully enshrouded in darkness. Gelvaen and Annondil had already returned with two rabbits themselves, which made for quite a good stew. “A few more vegetables would be nice,” Annondil muttered as he stirred the pot. “But we can resupply in Bree.”

“How long until we make it to Bree?” Erestor asked Gelvaen.

The warrior captain looked thoughtful. “Another week, I hope. More in case of any major delays.”

“Those including the dire pace Annondil has been maintaining the past few days,” Míros said with a cheeky grin.

Annondil gave him a cool look over the fire. “Are you accusing me of being slow, Míros?”

“Nothing of the sort, dear Annondil. I am sure your horse is simply feeling tired.”

“Are you.” Annondil looking sceptical, but he went back to stirring, and in a few minutes announced that the food was ready.

They took it in turns to hunt each night as they went onward. Erestor pointed out Amon Sul in the distance to Aragorn as they rode past, and noticed the young man turned his head to look back at it more than once as they rode onward.

He also noticed a certain coolness growing between Annondil and Míros, where before they had been close friends. He suspected it had something to do with how Míros and Lindir had taken a shine to each other and often spent time in each other’s company, talking by the fire and riding side by side, usually debating things in heated voices. Gelvaen had obviously noticed it too and had in a way taken over Míros’ part as Annondil’s friend – though Erestor suspected he did it not entirely for selfless reasons, as the only other people he had to talk to were himself and Aragorn, and Annondil had much more in common with Annondil than either of them. Aragorn commanded most of Erestor’s attention, half because he asked a lot of questions and half because Erestor felt the need to tell him things about the places they passed through. It almost felt like they were falling back into their old roles of tutor and student as he told him the history of the land, the geography, facts about the weather and the plants, really anything he could think of.

When they were halfway between Amon Sul and Bree, Gelvaen woke up one morning jumpy and unusually reserved. At noon when they had been riding for a few hours, Erestor asked him if anything was wrong, but all he could tell him was, “I have a bad feeling about something.”

It turned out Gelvaen’s feeling was prophetic. As they neared a bend in the road they began to hear noises from far away, and it didn’t take long to recognise them as the noise of battle. Frowning, Gelvaen motioned to Annondil, who rode on ahead to the turn. He disappeared out of sight and came cantering back a few moments later. “A small pack of orcs appear to have ambushed a company of dwarves in a dell just beyond the bend,” he panted.

Gelvaen’s frown deepened and he glanced over at Erestor, who nodded to him. “How many orcs?” he asked Annondil.

“There were perhaps twenty, now fifteen. The company of dwarves numbers between eight or ten, I couldn’t get a proper look at them.”

Gelvaen nodded decisively. “They might come through that fight and they might not. But they will with our help.” He raised an arm and then spurred his horse forward. The others followed him at a canter down the road and around the bend, the clash of swords and shouts of dwarves and orcs becoming clearer as they came. The orcs had heard the beat of their horses’ hooves and a few had ascended to the lip of the dell to meet them, but they were washed aside and felled as the elves charged into the battle.

Erestor heard Niniel snort and felt her hooves slide as she took the descent at a fast canter, but she kept her footing and sprung out across the flat bottom of the dell towards the nearest orcs. Erestor swept down with his sword and heard a cheer from the dwarves as they perceived that help was at hand.

With their advantage of numbers it seemed the battle could only go one way. The orcs were scattering, shouting in alarm, and Erestor could see Annondil and Míros charging after the few attempting to escape up the other side of the depression. He heard a shout from behind and turned, seeing an orc looming over the prone, unarmed figure of a dwarf on the ground. He reached for his bow, but someone else beat him to it. The orc grunted and fell to the ground with a thud, and the dwarves let out a cry as they rushed over to their fallen comrade.

Erestor looked up and smiled as he saw Aragorn, who was lowering his bow with a look of surprise. He’d never thought himself much of a good shot, but it seemed his skill had come through when he really needed it.

He trotted over to the young man. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking him over for any sight of injury.

“Just fine,” Aragorn said, replacing his bow on his saddle. “I didn’t expect…” He looked down and then chuckled quietly. “I didn’t actually expect that to hit.”

“Perhaps you should have a little more faith in your skills,” Erestor said with a smile.

“Erestor!”

Gelvaen had called him. He was on the ground, standing next to the group of dwarves who had gathered around their fallen companion. Erestor swung down from his horse and led her over to where they stood. “Is something wrong?” he asked Gelvaen in Elvish.

Gelvaen glanced at the dwarves and replied in the same tongue, “Nothing. They simply wanted to speak to the leader of the party.”

Erestor raised his eyebrows slightly, but let it pass without comment. Though Gelvaen may have been guiding them on their route, he obviously felt that in any matter of diplomacy he should defer responsibility to him. _A fairly wise decision, probably_ , Erestor thought. He didn’t know how good the captain was at negotiations, or what he felt about dwarves.

“Greetings,” he said to the dwarves in the common tongue, “Is your companion alright?”

“Simply tripped and lost his axe,” one of the dwarves said. He was noticeably stouter than his companions, and sported an impressively wild red beard. “He is Dríne, son of Gríne, the leader of our company, and I am Káli, son of Dwíli. Our lord is unhurt, thank Mahal.”

The dwarf glanced behind him, to where his friends were helping the fallen dwarf up. Dríne waved them away, rolling his shoulders as he stood once again on his own two feet. “Where the hell is my axe?” he growled, sending a flurry of action through his company as they searched for the missing weapon. Only then did he seem to notice the elves staring at him, and he looked with a slightly suspicious air back at them until suddenly his face cleared. Then he laughed, long and heartily. “So,” he said loudly, “you are our rescuers! Which one of you was it that shot the arrow into the head of the ugly one leaning over me?”

“That would be this one,” Erestor said, motioning Aragorn forward.

“Ha!” The dwarf stretched out a hand and shook Aragorn’s hand firmly. “I owe you my life, boy! That ugly thing would’ve had my head if you hadn’t been so quick with that bow.”

“Well, I am glad you retain your head,” Aragorn said, smiling, which made the dwarf laugh.

“I do not know what we can do to repay your kindness, but if there is something, we would offer it,” Dríne said, his tone becoming serious as he turned back to Erestor. Some of the dwarves behind him looked a little concerned or disapproving at his offer, but Dríne seemed nothing but sincere.

Erestor shook his head. “We are in need of nothing, and have no wish to inconvenience you. We would much rather you and your company were alive and well than dead on the roadside, and anything else is superfluous detail.”

“As you will.” Dríne nodded, and to Erestor’s eye he looked relieved at having to offer nothing, but he hid it well. “Where are you bound, if I may ask?”

“The Shire,” Erestor said, lying without hesitation, “And yourselves?”

“The Blue Mountains,” Dríne said, turning for a moment to mutter thanks in Khuzdul as another dwarf handed him a huge two-headed axe.

“Our paths convene, then, for a time,” Erestor said. “Would you accept our company on your way?”

Dríne glanced behind him. Several of the dwarves looked as if they would rather he refused this offer, but it wasn’t as if it would make any difference if he did. They would be travelling the same road at exactly the same time, well-nigh on top of each other. “Of course,” he said, “A bigger party makes a less attractive target for orcs, after all,” he said louder, with a pointed glance behind him.

And so they fell in with the company of dwarves. Eight dwarves in total made up Dríne’s party. Some of them seemed hostile and muttered only among themselves in Khuzdul, but some, like Káli and Dríne, were more talkative. Similarly, neither Annondil nor Míros seemed to want anything to do with the dwarves, and Lindir avoided them because they did, but Gelvaen seemed amiable enough towards them, and Aragorn was fascinated.

“We have been travelling for at least three months,” Dríne said on their first evening, when they were sitting around the campfire. Two other groups had split off to talk separately outside of the firelight, but Dríne, Káli, Aragorn, Erestor, Gelvaen and two other dwarves were sitting together in a loose circle. “We are on our way to visit some old friends of ours, and hopefully convince them to return with us to the Lonely Mountain.” He sighed heavily. “Not everyone is convinced that our old kingdom is safe, even after ten years.”

“The dragon Smaug had quite the fearsome reputation, it is true,” Erestor murmured.

“That he did. But ‘tis a pity, for now his taint is slowly washing away from the city, and the Desolation has been flowering well these past few years. Dale blossoms once again and the fires under the mountain are lit.” Dríne sighed again. “This, hopefully, will convince my kinsmen to return, despite their reservations. Long did we yearn to see Erebor in all her glory once more, throughout our years in exile.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Aragorn said enthusiastically. “I would love to see it, some day.”

Dríne laughed heartily. “That you should! The journey is long, but the sight is well worth it, in my own humble opinion.”

“It is true,” Erestor nodded, “The kingdom of Erebor is truly a wonder of this world.”

Dríne looked surprised. “You have seen it?”

“I was not fortunate enough to enter, but I saw it from the outside. We were staying in the city of Dale, which was very lovely in its own right.” Erestor smiled slightly. “However, I have once or twice had the privilege to enter Dwarven cities. They are a sight to behold."

"Which cities, if I may ask?" Dríne asked curiously.

"Belegost, mainly. My people once lived in the lands near to the city, and had been trading with them for many years before. We had an alliance with their lord."

"Amazing," Dríne breathed. "What I would have given to see that city at its height."

"It was indeed spectacular," Erestor agreed, "But I have heard that Erebor rivals even the old dwarven cities in its beauty and majesty."

Dríne shrugged. "So they say. Though who they are and how they are qualified to make the comparison, I don't know." He laughed suddenly. "I might suggest that you would be better suited than any to judge, if you were to see Erebor. You would have something to compare it to."

"I would," Erestor smiled. "Perhaps you can persuade King Dain to invite me.

"I would not presume to place myself so high in the King's favour," Dríne said with a chuckle. "I am but a simple jeweller."

"Don't let him fool you," Káli said. "Lord Dríne is very well respected among the craftsmen of Erebor."

Dríne shook his head. "I have some skill with metal, it is true. Now, master elf, we have shared our story; will you consent to tell us yours? What business do elves and men have with Shirefolk?"

"The Shire is in truth merely only a stop on our journey," Erestor said. "We intend to then travel onward to the city of Annúminas."

"Interesting," Dríne said thoughtfully. "That city has been abandoned for years, has it not?"

"Indeed it has," Erestor nodded. "We would like to ensure that it remains so. Such a city could fall prey to dark forces and become a stronghold for evil, which would not bode well for the folk of the Shire."

"No, it would not." Dríne nodded decidedly. "And I suppose you are come out of Rivendell?"

"Yes."

"A strange and wondrous place, by all accounts," Dríne murmured.

"Those who journeyed on the Quest for Erebor tell many tales about it," Káli said, but didn't elaborate on the content of such tales.

"I expect they felt rather like fish out water," Erestor said generously. "The environments in which dwarves and elves live are often very different."

"But is it not true that elves have before built cities in caves?" Káli asked.

Erestor nodded. "You are well informed, master Káli. Indeed, the great elven realm of Doriath had its capital at Menegroth, the thousand caves, and the Kingdom of Nargothrond was built into the rock face overlooking the river Narog. They were said to be beautiful, though I saw neither. And of course, those of the Woodland Realm have their fortress in a series of caves."

"The dwarves who were on the Quest for Erebor had a lot to say about their stay there, too," Káli said darkly.

"Don't be morbid, Káli," Dríne admonished.

"Some elves have a greater liking for dwarves, and the wood elves are not among those," Gelvaen said with a shrug. "I am sure there are divisions among the clans of the dwarves over similar issues."

Dríne shook his head with a sigh. "The divisions among the dwarven clans would fill a library of books. Even learning the history of a scant few is enough to make my head ache." He clapped Káli on the shoulder. "Káli here, though, is a historian, and very good at what he does. I bring him along primarily as a diplomatic advisor. He tends to know who might be more likely to be feuding with whom."

"A useful companion," Erestor agreed.

"And now we have both sung one another's praises and embarrassed one another!" Dríne said with a laugh.

"A suitable revenge," Káli agreed. "However, if you don't mind, my lord, I will turn in. It will be a long day on the road tomorrow."

Káli's words seemed to remind everyone of their own tiredness, and soon the fire was banked and everyone was wrapped up warmly for another night.

/

The journey to Bree was much less eventful. They passed through the landscape without seeing many other signs of life, save an old farmer and his cart a day out from the village. Dríne made a very good travelling companion, seemingly unfazed by the prejudice against elves many of the dwarves in his company held. Káli became more outgoing over the course of the few nights they spent together, and made notes on some of the stories and histories Erestor or Gelvaen would provide him with. Erestor even attempted to sketch the main entrance hall of Belegost from memory, much to the dwarves delight, though he wasn't sure his attempt was in the least bit accurate.

They were all agreed that the Prancing Pony was the best Inn in town, and the dwarves were particularly partial to it because of the 'hobbit rooms', which were just as comfortable for them as they were for hobbits. The innkeep looked delighted to house such a big party, and saw them all to comfortable rooms. Aragorn told Erestor the next morning that when he had talked to the man later in the evening, he had confided that he had had only one room occupied before they arrived.

Dríne and the dwarves were planning to stay another few nights in Bree to rest and recuperate, so Erestor and the others bid them farewell that morning and set off on the road toward the Shire. "I am sad to see them go," Aragorn said, "They were very interesting company."

"Interesting is certainly the word," Míros muttered behind them, but no one said anything more unsavoury about the dwarves.

A few days later Gelvaen announced that they were about the cross the borders of the Shire, and within a few hours they came to a small, pretty bridge grown over with ivy that spanned the river. “The Brandywine Bridge,” Gelvaen said. “This is the border of the Shire, and one of few crossings of the river. I suggest we cross here and cut north across the Shire, and then head straight north to Annúminas.

“That sounds fine to me,” Erestor said, and they passed over the bridge and kept going.

That night they camped in a clearing in the middle of a small woodland. The undergrowth rustled with animals and night birds called in the air, and the atmosphere was generally peaceful. Erestor smiled to himself; such was ever the case in the Shire.

“Do you think we will see any hobbits?” Aragorn asked him, just as they were lying down to sleep.

“Yes, probably,” Erestor said, shifting to find a comfortable spot. “Well, as long as they want us to, that is. Hobbits are very good at going unnoticed when they want to.”

“I have never read any books about hobbits,” Aragorn said, a confused note in his voice. “You had me read about every other race in Middle-earth. Why not them?”

 “It seems no one is interested in writing books about hobbits,” Erestor said. “They keep to themselves mainly, and don’t tend to trouble the outside world. In return, they can be reluctant to reveal their secrets when the outside world tries to trouble them.”

He made out Aragorn’s nod in the darkness. “I see. But you must know about their culture?”

“I know hobbit economy is based on agriculture, mainly. They place a strong importance on family bonds and socially respectable behaviour. Above all they enjoy food, and take great pride in their cooking. They are also generally fabulous gardeners.” Erestor paused. “Well, that about sums them up. Mithrandir is of the opinion that one has to meet and be in the company of a Hobbit to truly learn about their kind, which is made more difficult by the fact that they tend never to leave the Shire, and are wary of strangers.”

Aragorn laughed quietly. “Then I shall only aim to meet one, not take one on a grand adventure.”

Erestor smiled. “That might be wise.”


	4. Chapter 4

They made good progress through the woods and fields of the Shire. Gelvaen said that the northern part of the Shire was the least populous, so it was natural not to see as many hobbits here. “Otherwise we would be up to our necks in travellers taking ‘walking holidays’, as they call them,” he had muttered.

“I suppose this may put paid to my aim to see a hobbit,” Aragorn said, just after Gelvaen had announced that they were close to the Shire’s northern border.

Erestor laughed. “There will be many more opportunities for you to see hobbits, Estel. After all, the Dúnedain often protect their borders.”

Aragorn looked down. “Yes. That they do.”

He looked troubled, but Erestor didn’t press him. He felt that Aragorn was still thinking over whatever bothered him, and that it would be better to leave those thoughts in his own mind for now. He could guess as to what troubled the young man, but he would wait and see instead of assuming.

It was midmorning a few days later when they finally came in sight of the ruins of Annúminas. They paused for a few moments on a rise that overlooked the crumbling city to take in the view.

Erestor could hear Aragorn whispering something under his breath, but he didn’t enquire as to what it was. It sounded private.

After standing still for a few minutes, the group moved on, down the hill and toward the city proper. Erestor saw Gelvaen place a hand on the hilt of his sword. “It looks peaceful,” he commented, his fingers inching towards his own weapon. It did indeed look undisturbed, but as the half-fallen buildings loomed up over them, a touch of foreboding filled him.

“They tend to,” Gelvaen said humourlessly. “Then the orcs pop out of the woodwork.”

“Quite,” Erestor murmured.

A central road, the paving stones cracked with age, led through the heart of the old city. They could just about catch a glimpse of the lake shining under the morning sun through the buildings. Gelvaen nodded, and they made their way down it. Nothing moved or stirred in the bright sunlight as they rode down the road, their horses’ hooves sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness.

When they came to a large square, Gelvaen nodded. “We should split up and search the place,” he said, his voice slightly hushed. “My suggestion would be that I search the north-western quarter, and Míros can search the south-western; Annondil can search the south-eastern corner and you could search the north-eastern corner, Lord Erestor.”

“Is it safe for them to search alone?” Aragorn asked. Erestor could see the same apprehension reflected in Lindir’s eyes.

“We will be fine, young one,” Erestor assured him. “Estel and Lindir will stay here?”

“Take shelter under that archway there, I would suggest.” Gelvaen pointed it out; a pile of fallen masonry had built up behind what once would have been an archway leading to another street, providing a good hiding place. “We should meet back here in roughly two hours, when the sun is just past its zenith.”

“Alright.” Erestor turned his horse toward a street that led north-east, then paused to give Aragorn a serious look. “Stay under that archway, Estel,” he said quietly. “If anything happens, make for the city outskirts.”

Aragorn nodded seriously, and Erestor spurred his horse, hearing the others moving out in other directions.

The ruins of Annúminas were by turns awe-inspiring and monotonous. By the time the first hour had elapsed, Erestor no longer felt any foreboding. He had seen nothing out of the ordinary, and no signs of enemy inhabitation; no scraps of cloth, no burnt out campfires, no tracks apart from those of animals. Annúminas seemed completely deserted.

He turned another corner and suddenly the buildings receded and he was on the shore of the lake, which glistened and shimmered in the midday sun. Old quays and jetties ran the length of the water line. A flock of birds whistled past overhead, and swans glided gracefully around end of the furthermost quay. He reined in his horse, sitting and staring for a while at the peaceful scenery. _This would have been a wonderful place for a city_ , he thought sadly.

After a few minutes he turned and started to make his way back. Míros and Annondil had already returned when he arrived back at the central square. “Nothing?” he asked as he swung down from his horse.

“Quiet as the grave,” Míros shrugged. “All I saw were wildflowers and a few hares.”

“I spotted an adder and a stoat,” Annondil said, nodding.

Erestor sighed. “I saw swans on the lake. Has Gelvaen returned?”

“Not yet,” Annondil looked up. “He has a little time yet, I think, before he was supposed to return.”

“And how did you spend your time?” Erestor asked Aragorn and Lindir.

“Most unproductively,” Lindir said, wrinkling his nose. Aragorn just shrugged.

Within a half hour Gelvaen returned as well, reporting nothing unusual. “Still, I think it best we camp away from the main square,” he said, “just in case. I saw an old townhouse without a roof, down near the quays, which might be suitable.”

They all agreed that the townhouse would serve, and set up their bedrolls and the wood for a small campfire inside. A swath of open grass was just outside, perhaps some kind of park before, where they hobbled the horses and left them to graze.

“So,” Gelvaen said when they were all gathered together in the old house. “How long do we intend to stay?”

“No more than three days. We should leave the third morning from now,” Erestor said. “The city feels uninhabited, but one never knows. Old ruins like these are often perfect hiding places for the forces of the enemy.”

The others all nodded. “Do we have any tasks to perform?” Annondil asked after a moment of silence.

Erestor shrugged with one shoulder. “Nothing at all. You are free to do as you wish.”

They dispersed slowly. Gelvaen, Annondil and Míros decided to go down to the lake to do some fishing. Lindir declared he wanted to explore and Aragorn heartily agreed. When they had all disappeared, Erestor unpacked the large sketchbook he had been carrying and left himself, intending to find some interesting architecture to sketch. Melpomaen had made mention of a few features he was interested in, including the old palace and the city’s administrative building, so Erestor found these first and spent an enjoyable afternoon sketching them. He wasn’t completely sure of the result, but it gave a good enough impression of both buildings.

At dusk he returned to their small, roofless house, and as he approached he could see the fire already brightly merrily through the empty windows. “Cooking today’s catch?” he asked as he stepped through the doorway.

Gelvaen looked up and nodded. “And an abundant catch it was too. That lake has been left alone a long time.”

“I would imagine so.” Erestor wrapped the sketchbook up in its oilskin covering and then came to sit in the circle around the fire. “And how was your exploration, Lindir?”

Aragorn snorted. “Lindir ceased exploring around an hour in, electing to work on his composition. I, however, saw a lot of the city today.”

“On your own?” Erestor asked.

Aragorn nodded. “And don’t worry, I saw nothing sinister. Just ruins and wildlife.” He smiled softly. “But what ruins they are.”

“Indeed,” Annondil said. “I think I at least shall spend tomorrow exploring them. It isn’t often we get such an opportunity.”

The others agreed. The next morning, Annondil and Míros set off early to get a full day of exploration done. Aragorn left not much later, and Erestor could tell from the quietness of his attitude that he wanted to be left alone. A touch of worry niggled at his mind, but he let him go. He sensed he wished to contemplate his future, his heritage, alone here in one of the places it had been strongest. And that was, after all, the purpose of the journey.

He left Lindir whistling and humming to himself and making notes, and walked out with sketchbook in hand. On his way he waved to Gelvaen, who was out in the small meadow brushing his horse’s coat.

The day was long and sunny, and when Erestor’s hand began to hurt from sketching he made his way back to the camp, where he found some lunch and chatted to Lindir about his latest composition. Afterward he wandered the ruins, taking in the sights, and made notes about them as well as sketches, just a few observations here and there. He hoped Melpomaen would be satisfied with his attempts.

At dinner they discussed what they had seen that day, and Míros badgered Lindir to give them a preview of his new work, but the minstrel wouldn’t be persuaded. After they had eaten they talked and passed around a wineskin until the moon rode high in the sky, and only then bid each other goodnight.

The next day, their last in Annúminas, dawned bright and early. When Erestor woke up Aragorn was gone, but before he could panic Annondil, who had been on watch, told him the boy had gone out into the ruins again. “I wonder what he does out there?” the warrior mused, stoking the fire to cook breakfast.

“I believe he is deep in thought about his future, and the future of his people. And their past, as well. That is what he wanted to come here for; to reconnect with his ancestors.”

Annondil glanced up around the tumbledown walls. “I suppose this is a place with lots of history,” he murmured.

“That it is,” Erestor smiled. “Now, how about eggs for breakfast?”

That morning everyone – except Aragorn, who was still absent – took the horses out for a run on the plains outside the city. The wind was sharp but refreshing, and Erestor took great joy in galloping freely across the thick grass and letting Niniel stretch her legs. Later, when they got back to the city, Lindir disappeared into the ruins along with Míros to work on their duet, while Annondil and Gelvaen elected to go swimming off one of the quays. After a while of watching Erestor joined them, diving deep to see if he could glimpse the foundations of the quays through the murky green water, and joining them in their races from jetty to jetty.

By the time they returned to the camp the others were also back, even Aragorn, who was staring into the fire with a faraway look on his face. Gelvaen proposed a small celebration while Annondil was cooking dinner, so he used the last of the exotic spices he had brought with him and made a mouth-wateringly good final meal. Then the wineskin was passed around and everyone drank heartily, and it was surprisingly Annondil who started off the songs.

After a little while, Erestor noticed that Aragorn had slipped away and was no longer with them. He excused himself and went to look for him.

Erestor found him eventually, perched on the remains of a window ledge up a broken and weathered flight of stairs. “A bit of a perilous place for contemplation,” he said gently.

Aragorn didn’t turn. “It is quite safe. I have sat here a few times.”

Erestor negotiated the stairs with relative ease and sat on the window ledge next to him. “I have noticed you deep in thought over the past few days,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Are you troubled by being here?”

“No,” Aragorn shook his head, and when he looked up and off across the lake, Erestor could see the determination in his eyes. “Seeing these ruins…it feels like a challenge. I feel a great sense of loss, of course, but also of ambition. I want to rebuild the old cities like this one. I want to see them flourish again.” He looked down. “And even if I cannot achieve that in full, I would like to lay the foundation for my children or my children’s children to do so.”

“It is a noble aim,” Erestor said quietly, “and one you are worthy of, I do not doubt.”

“It has been said there is weakness in the line of Men, and perhaps there is,” Aragorn said quietly, “But there was greatness once; I believe there can be greatness again.” Before Erestor could say anything, Aragorn turned to him with bright eyes. “When we get back to Imladris, I want to go to my people. I want to join the Dúnedain, learn their ways, start helping the people.”

Erestor nodded slowly. “That you should. It is past time you rejoined your kin, much as we have loved having you in our care.”

“Yes.” Aragorn turned back to the lake. “Ada will not approve.”

Erestor sighed. “He knew this day would come, Estel. If he had wanted to keep you as his son, he would not have told you of your lineage. He knows that one day you will rejoin the Dúnedain and start down the path that is meant for you.” He covered Aragorn’s hand with his own. “But like any parent, he does not want to admit to himself that his son is a grown man, and ready to take on the responsibilities he must bear.”

“I do not want to upset him,” Aragorn said quietly.

“You will not. He will be sad, but only because you will be gone from him.”

“I will come back, though.”

Erestor nodded. “Indeed you will. But you will no longer be just down the corridor from him, forever in his sphere of protection. You will be out in the wide world.” Erestor gave Aragorn’s hand a squeeze. “It will not be too hard for him. He has had three children of his own grow up and spread their wings before you.”

Aragorn sighed and nodded. They looked out over the lake in silence for a long time before Aragorn said, very quietly, “Do you think the Enemy will return soon, Erestor?”

Erestor sighed heavily. “He was almost ready to return ten years ago, until the White Council stopped him.” He paused for a long moment. “I have no great gift of foresight, Estel, but I have known war. War is coming; far off yet, but still present. You will play a great part in it, I think, and perhaps…”

He paused for a long minute, frowning, until Aragorn prompted, “Perhaps?”

“Perhaps the hope of the Dúnedain will be realized in you. You were not named Estel for no reason, I think.”

“You mean the return of the King,” Aragorn said breathlessly.

“Your return,” Erestor said quietly. He laced his fingers through Aragorn’s. “Yes. It will be a hard road, should you choose it, but great joy lies at the end.”

“It seems so vast,” Aragorn murmured. “The future, stretching out in front of me.”

Erestor laughed quietly. “It is not so bad as all that.”

“I do not know if I am ready to do such great deeds, Erestor.”

“You will become ready,” Erestor said. “And if you do not, you will teach your children to be ready. But I believe you will be the end the Dúnedain have been searching for.”

“Really?” Aragorn looked around at him, hope and apprehension mingling in his eyes.

“Yes.” Erestor pulled him close and hugged him tightly. “Do not doubt yourself, Aragorn. The strength of Men is great, and it lives in you.”

Aragorn squeezed him tightly and said nothing. They stayed there, still, for a long while before Aragorn pulled away. “We should rejoin the others,” he said quietly. Erestor nodded agreement and went down the broken stairway first.

Aragorn followed him, slipping on the last step. Erestor grabbed his hand to steady him. “Careful,” he chuckled, “You won’t be able to fulfil any hopes of men if you slip off a broken staircase.”

Aragorn shook his head and chuckled quietly, and they made their way together back to the others. Lindir groused at them for being gone so long, and then proposed a toast in Aragorn’s honour, which made the young Man blush profusely. Then they all turned in, happy and laughing, and Erestor smiled up at the spread of stars laid out in the heavens above before he shut his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

They packed up the next morning and set out. Aragorn turned many times to look back at the old city, sadness in his eyes. Erestor leaned over to him and said quietly, “You will return.” This made him smile, which was the aim, of course.

On their way back Aragorn achieved his goal of sighting a hobbit when they stopped to buy some provisions from a local farmer. The man was small even for a hobbit and had a suspicious glare, but Erestor coaxed him into giving them enough food to last them the rest of their journey.

They had made it to Bree when the fine travelling conditions broke, and rain started to pour down from the clouds. “This is the other, less glamorous side of travel,” Lindir commented drily to Aragorn as they huddled under a tree one night.

As the rain continued to pour Erestor noticed tension in Gelvaen’s stance, and when they came around a bend in the road he heard him groan. When they all caught up, they saw the problem. The road ahead was muddy as a bog, with water overflowing in the rough drains on either side. “Wonderful,” Gelvaen snapped. “If it’s bad here, the road in the valley below will almost certainly be flooded. We will have to go around by another route.”

“How long will that take?” Erestor asked.

“At least a week, maybe more,” Gelvaen said, glowering at the road.

“I’ll go ahead, just check it is flooded,” Annondil said, jumping from his horse. He sloshed with quite some difficulty through the mud and disappeared below the bend in the road. After a little while he came back, scowling and muddy to the knees. “Completely flooded, completely impassable,” he growled, nodding his thanks to Míros who held his horse while he remounted.

Erestor sighed. “The long way it is, then.”

/

The delay was, as Gelvaen had predicted, around a week, and everyone was glad when they finally reached the familiar plains around Imladris. “Only a few more days to home,” Lindir said happily.

“You really must tell us when you are getting married, Gelvaen,” Míros said, grinning. “We are all dying to know.”

“Trust me Míros, when I know, you shall be the first to hear,” Gelvaen said, smiling and relieved now they were so close to home, and everyone laughed.

Erestor was very glad to see the familiar buildings of Imladris begin to appear between the trees, and smiled to himself when they reached the gate and the main courtyard beyond. He swung down from his horse with a sigh of relief and stretched his limbs. “A long bath, a large dinner and an early night for me, I think,” he commented to Aragorn, who had just dismounted beside him.

“As much fun as our adventure was, I am looking forward to a comfortable bed,” Aragorn said with a smile.

“So shall it ever be,” Erestor grinned, and Aragorn laughed quietly.

As he began to untie his saddlebags he heard quick footsteps approaching across the flagstones. Aragorn made a noise of surprise behind him. “I thought you were not to be back for at least a month!” he exclaimed.

He looked up curiously just as someone threw their arms around him and golden hair blocked his view. He laughed and wound his own arms around his assailant. “You are home early.”

“And you are home late,” Glorfindel said, sounding disgruntled.

“Bad weather. Flooded valley. Nothing serious.”

“Mhmm.” Glorfindel didn’t say anything, just squeezed him a little tighter. Erestor was content to stay there, enjoying the closeness for a little while. After a few minutes Aragorn coughed pointedly, and they disentangled themselves. “I hear I have you to blame for coming home to find Erestor gone,” Glorfindel said, mock-glaring at Aragorn.

“Well, we had a lovely time. Apart from the orcs, and the rain.”

“Orcs?” Glorfindel questioned, scowling.

“Very few, nothing to worry about. No one was hurt.” Erestor touched Glorfindel’s cheek and bring his gaze back to him. “Don’t glare like that, dear. It ruins your lovely face.”

Glorfindel’s brow smoothed. “Still,” he said, beginning to help Erestor with his saddlebags. “I must admit it was a shock to come home and find out you two had been let loose into the countryside.”

“Estel has his father wrapped around his little finger, as usual,” Erestor said with a smile.

“Quite clearly.” Glorfindel gave Aragorn a look over his shoulder. “Your brothers weren’t best pleased to return home and find you gone, either. They had to be quite forcibly convinced not to leave the valley and start out after you.”

Aragorn huffed indignantly. “I wasn’t in any _danger_. They do tend to over react.”

“Wait until they get hold of you,” Glorfindel said, amused, and Aragorn looked slightly nervous.

“And did you have to be convinced not to leave the valley?” Erestor asked him in an undertone.

Glorfindel sighed. “Yes, alright, I did think about it. One snappish line from Elrond killed the thought in its tracks, however.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Erestor shouldered his last bag. “I know you are aware I can look after myself.”

“I am,” Glorfindel nodded. “I simply have a horrible habit of overprotectiveness that needs work.”

Erestor laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “That you do,” he smiled, “But I can tolerate it.”

“I am so very glad,” Glorfindel smiled softly.

“ _There_ you are!” an angry voice said from the steps to the house.

They all turned to see Elrohir stalking towards them. Aragorn gulped, then straightened his back and walked purposefully to meet his brother. “He looks determined,” Glorfindel commented with a smile.

“He wants to leave us and go back to the Dúnedain,” Erestor said quietly.

Glorfindel looked at him, studied his face for a few moments. “He is ready for it, then?” he asked quietly.

“I think he is, yes.” Erestor sighed. “Much as I am loathe to let him go.”

“Aren’t we all.” Glorfindel put an arm around his waist and drew him in the direction of the main buildings, sidestepping Elrohir and Aragorn, who were arguing. “When is he going to tell Elrond?” he asked as they ascended the steps.

Erestor shook his head. “I have no idea. Soon, I would guess.”

/

They had been back only one evening when Elrond came to breakfast with a heavy frown. When Erestor inquired what was wrong, Elrond said, “I assume you know Estel wants to leave and join the Dúnedain.”

“He said as much in Annúminas, yes.”

“He told me last night.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I would think about it.” Elrond sighed heavily. “Then he went and told the twins about it. They had a rather nasty argument and now none of them are speaking.” He was quiet for a long moment before he asked, “Should I let him go, Erestor?”

Erestor put his cup down and considered the many answers he could give, but in the end all he said was, “Yes. He is ready.”

Elrond looked up at him, then sighed heavily. “Much as I hate to admit it, I think you are right. It cannot be put off any longer.” He looked away out of the window. “It will hurt to lose him.”

“He will return.”

“I know. But still. It is a dangerous world out there.”

“And he will have good protectors.” Erestor reached out and placed a hand over Elrond’s. “Send him out with the twins when next they visit the Dúnedain. Estel’s will be a hard road, but it is one I think he will walk with honour.”

Elrond smiled slightly.

/

Later in the day, Erestor returned to the library. He breathed in the familiar smell of the books and smiled lightly.

Before he had been there for even a minute, he heard fast footsteps behind him. Chuckling, he turned around and met Melpomaen’s eagerly smiling face. “Hello, Mel,” he said.

Melpomaen’s eyes sparked. “Did you have a good time? Was it amazing?”

“It was quite something,” Erestor nodded, taking a large and familiar wrapped shape out from behind his back and presenting it to Melpomaen, who took it eagerly. “I do not know how good they are, but I tried to get a favour of the whole place,” Erestor said, watching Melpomaen eagerly unwrap the sketchbook.

“It looks wonderful,” Melpomaen breathed, pouring over the pictures.

“Well, Elladan is back,” Erestor said with a grin. “You can ask him to take you now.”

Melpomaen tore his gaze away from the book to grace Erestor with a glare, and then returned to it. “Has the place run well without me?” Erestor asked.

“Fine, nothing wrong, no problems,” Melpomaen muttered distractedly.

“I will take your word for it,” Erestor laughed. He left Melpomaen to the book and walked out of the library, onto one of the walkways that led around the house. Leaning on the balcony, he looked down into the gardens and spotted two familiar shapes walking among the trees. He smiled. Aragorn’s head was bent, listening intently as Elrond talked. They walked at a slow pace, Aragorn not interrupting as Elrond said his piece.

Erestor sighed. _I will miss you, little one_ , he thought, looking with fondness on Aragorn’s serious expression. _But this is for the best_.

Eventually they passed out of sight, and Erestor leant on the balcony rail and watched a watery sun peer out from behind the thinning grey clouds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I've never written a long fic with Aragorn featured so much in it before (in fact I've rarely written Aragorn) so I hope I was true to him. 
> 
> And thus I complete my first Big Bang! That brings a smile to my face, I can tell you :D


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